


Derek Should Have Known Better (Even When it All Ends Good)

by Saraste



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Rimming, Shower Sex, Stiles topping the hell out of Derek and Derek loving it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:46:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Alpha  really should have known better than to turn his back to Stiles, not when he knows how obsessed Stiles is with his perfect godly ass (and every single sensuous sinful inch of Derek attached, besides, but particularly the ass).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Derek Should Have Known Better (Even When it All Ends Good)

When Stiles carefully lowers himself onto his knees behind Derek in the cramped intimacy of Derek’s loft apartment, it feels like the most natural thing ever. He doesn’t give Derek the time to refuse, not this time. They’ve played this came of no-rimming-Derek-just-Stiles until Stiles is sick and tired of it.

 

Also, Derek should never have turned his back on Stiles, just saying.

 

So, unashamed pervert and worshipper of Derek’s porn-star-body that he is, Stiles of course took advantage while Derek iwas distracted, washing his ridiculously sexy come-hither-hair, facing the fall, away from stiles. The Alpha  really should have known better than to turn his back to Stiles, not when he knows how obsessed Stiles is with his perfect godly ass (and every single sensuous sinful inch of Derek attached, besides, but particularly the ass).

 

Stiles ignores the protests of his knees as they slide on the cold slippery tiles when he positions himself and instead focuses on his goal, the twin globes of Derek’s shapely hot ass. An ass that‘s Stiles’ now. Short of Derek whipping around and kissing, grinding and fucking Stiles through the wall, turning the tables on him, there’s no way Stiles is backing out now.

 

“Stiles.” Derek sounds like he can’t even believe he’s even trying to make Stiles stop what he’s doing. His voice is half between a growl and a whine. But he isn’t, he isn’t doing anything but standing there, his hands pressed against the tiles of the wall, water pounding on his hair, making the suds disperse, his whole body tense with anticipation.

 

Stiles can hear Derek’s confusion, the conflict of what he thinks he should do as an alpha and what he wants to do as Stiles’ boyfriend.  

 

Too bad for Derek that Stiles has no idea at all of stopping, his fingers already splaying Derek’s cheeks apart, biting his lower lip as he looks at Derek’s puckered hole. Too bad for Derek that Stiles is licking the crease between Derek’s cheeks with the flat of his tongue in one long swipe, immersing himself in the experience of being able to do it after how long he’s been waiting for it, waiting for his chance, not paying anything Derek might gasp, whine or plead no heed.

 

And, suddenly, there’s no real fight left in Derek, if there ever was.

 

“You know you’re letting me,” Stiles murmurs against Derek’s ass, having a bit of a giggle over how Derek’s whole body just _shudders_. Shudders because Stiles knows Derek’s wanted this, can’t back down from this now that it’s _finally_ happening. Because it feels too good… Even when Derek might argue that it’s too much of a switch of their positions, even when Stiles and Derek’s ass are acquaintances of long standing, well… _except_. “This feels way too good for you to pass up. And… _I want this as much as you know you do….”_

 

And Derek shivers even more, shaking and being undone by Stiles’ words and there’s just one thing that the big bad Alpha can say.

 

“Stiles…” It’s a whine, a plea, a curse, a benediction all wrapped into one.

 

Derek _gives in_.

 

Stiles gasps against Derek’s hole, his mind a jumble with how Derek sounds, with how his name, dragged and dropped from Derek’s lips makes him ache, makes him want. Stiles breathes air over the puckered, quivering sphincter of Derek’s ass, leans back and looks at how water trails over the Alpha’s skin, down the muscled back, feels the splatters from the still-running shower raining over his own back in a detached way. Stiles feels so hot, his dick dripping pre-come: he’s _aching_ because he’s getting to do this to Derek, because he knows how hot he’d making his werewolf paramour.

 

Then he goes to town, rimming Derek like his life depends on it.

 

Derek starts to moan, repeat Stiles’ name in a broken pattern, unable to keep silent, as Stiles swipes his tongue over him a few times before he actually jabs it against the tight ring of muscle and feels it give in, granting him access. The taste is bitter, regardless of everything, but no way Stiles is backing down now, not with Derek’s bitter taste, primal and urgent, on his tongue.

 

Not with the way Derek _keens_ as Stiles’ tongue is inside him, spearing him, spreading him open, Stiles’ lips pressed in a perverse kiss around his sphincter. Stiles’ fingers dig into the flesh of Derek’s ass, spreading him even more open, keeping hold of his access. He fucks Derek with his tongue, making him undone, reveling in his undoing, in the shudder around his tongue, against his face, the gasping growls trailing into his ears. And he’s so turned on he wishes he could just, but no, he can’t cos he’s tongue deep in Derek’s ass and he won’t give that up just to come.

 

Because this is Stiles’ window, his opportunity to worship at Derek’s ass, give as good as he’s gotten, he hopes. Making Derek come with just his tongue fucking him open, licking at him, driving him more incoherent by the second.

 

Stiles alternates between thrusting his tongue in as much he’s able and curling it up and gobbling Derek up with swiping his tongue along the crease, breathing erratic puffs of air against Derek, vulnerable and opening up, just for him.

 

All the while aching, throbbing and wanting to come so bad even when he knows he can’t.

 

Derek doesn’t complain, not at all. He just stands there, completely at Stiles’ mercy but not really, only his werewolf strength holding him up and preventing him from falling down on the slippery tiled floor as Stiles rims him. And that should be unfair but isn’t, ‘cos that means that Stiles gets to have this done, gets to rim Derek for as long as he wants, for as long until he’s reached his goal.

 

Derek, coming hard, screaming his name.

 

Nothing else matters. Not the stray water clogging up his nose, not the way his knees are starting to ache from where they’re pressed down on the wet hard tiles, or the way he really, really, wants to just take one of his hands off of Derek’s ass and jerk his aching cock until he comes.

 

‘Cos the way Derek shudders under his ministrations, the way he gasps out Stiles’ name and then just whimpers while Stiles’ tongue fucks him, lick and sucks at him intimately, it’s turning him on so much. That he can do this to Derek, that he’s allowed to do this, this dirty sensuous thing he’s been dying to do. It’s the world’s best aphrodisiac.

 

Stiles’ whole body shakes as he hears the hitch in Derek’s voice, the gasp of his surrender, his body hot and tight under Stiles’ hands, trembling yet almost pliant, teetering on submissive.

 

He hears the letting go, the surrender and intimate vulnerability of Derek’s imminent orgasm in the way Derek’s speech falters, the way his body trembles. It feels like it’s too soon, even when Stiles knows he may have lost track of time, so immersed in the feel of Derek’s body under his touch.

 

Finally, Stiles hears Derek plead.

 

And it’s too much, after all, and he comes himself, come shooting over wet tiles, Derek’s perfect legs, whole body shaking as his nose is still buried in the crease of Derek’s perfect sculpted ass, tongue as deep in him as he can reach, wildly grasping fingers leaving welts and bruises that’ll be just passing acquaintances to werewolf healing abilities.

 

His mouth is open, slack as he pants, moaning through his orgasm, sending shocks of electricity up Derek’s spine if the shaking of his werewolf is any indication at all and Stiles thinks it’s so obscene, yet not, him there, mouth open against Derek’s ass.

 

Derek follows suit not long after, even before Stiles can get himself to licking and tongue-fucking again, tipped to the brink and over by Stiles, nose pressed to his crease, mouth open and breathing where his tongue’s still inside Derek. Derek lets go, completely, his claws scraping the tiles with a screech, shouting Stiles’ name so loud that no werewolf within city limits can be unsure of whom he’s having sex with.

 

Stiles finally let his tongue slip from inside Derek’s hole, needing to breathe. Derek shudders, still managing to stay standing, pressed against the wall, gasping for air. His jizz is splattered on the wall in obscene patterns of coitus. Stiles sits down, his hands settling on the floor and looks up at Derek, reveling in the way his werewolf’s legs still shake.

 

“Gotcha!” Is all he manages to say, chuckling, grinning from ear to ear even as he’s catching his breath. He almost can’t believe he’s done it, finally done it. But he’s still shaking in post-orgasmic high and knows what Derek looks like when he is, too. The way Derek hasn’t moved away from the wall is proof enough that he’s come. “See? Told you you’d love it.”

 

Stiles can’t keep his mouth shut, not even post coital. Also, why should he. He’s just rimmed the hell out of Derek Hale, Alpha Werewolf of Beacon Hills and his long-time boyfriend. He kinda thinks he should be getting a medal.

 

“Stiles.”

 

“Don’t tell me you didn’t.”

 

And then Derek’s looking at him from over his shoulder and his face is the image of debauchery, well, what debauchery looks like when it’s forced on Derek’s often expressionless, mostly poutingly grouchy, features. His pupils are blown, his breathing ragged and he looks at Stiles like he’ll eat him up.

Later, he does, in a most decidedly sexy and non-homicidal way.

 

But there are no words. Derek just whips around, grabs at Stiles and has him pinned against the wall of the shower amidst the humid air in no seconds flat. And he’s kissing Stiles, hungry, ravenous.

 

“Maybe,” Derek finally admits when he deigns to let Stiles catch a breath.

 

But Stiles knows. Especially when the next time they shower Derek drops the soap ten seconds in and bends down, wiggling his ass at Stiles.

 

Yeah, he knows.

 


End file.
